Letterstime - Ein Geleitzug: Homeward Bound? Part LVII
"The authentication of documents has always posed a critical challenge, in light of forgery and other security concerns. A cryptographic message authentication code is a short piece of information either appended to or inserted into the document itself, normally in a previously agreed form and manner. Not always, however, have such pre-arrangements been practicable or even possible. In such cases, senders have traditionally relied upon human ingenuity."
---- Case Studies in Cryptography, page ii, Donald MacIsaac, Serbcro Press, a Division of Nelson Education Ltd., Scarborough, ON, Canada, 1999
July 9, 1915
---- Imperator, course 150, speed 10 knots
Fox rubbed hard his gorgeously blood-shot eyes as he stared hungrily at the many items that bedecked the long and lustrously-wooded table in the private dining room adjoining the Owner's Suite. Some of the items were spicy and some were sweet. Some were meaty and others were gossamer light.
The reporter literally salivated at the spectacle, though not one item was edible.
They were in stacks like flapjacks, but they were made not of wheat, but photographic paper, but they were not just any photographs. In Fox's opinion, the Philadelphia Inquirer hit the street four to six days a week with front pages headed by pictures far less worthy than many of these. Indeed, perhaps as many as a full dozen were the equal or better of just about any that he could ever recall in all his years with the paper, especially the raw shots of massive wounded dreadnoughts with smoke still pluming from great and ragged shell holes, their topsides crawling with men and equipment. (NOTE 1) In those, the extent of the battle damage and the determination and energy of the sailors all fairly leapt out of the glossy prints right into the viewer's eyeballs. Images of gesticulating men wielding axes, hoses, and stretchers filled many while, in others, rescuers could be seen plucking men from the sea or ferrying them up in slings, men visibly in more than one uniform, disparate in nationality but alike in need. In still others, canvas covered shapes formed sober, serried ranks on decks, anonymous in origin but together at their end.
It was war in all its horrible, mesmerizing majesty.
Newspaper gold, the stuff of EXTRAs. Fox had brought enough to the Inquirer for an EXTRA when Imperator had join Vaterland at the pier in Philadelphia on June 19. The table held more than that, much, much more.
Sometime during the night, Fox had agreed to developing all of his film and now was vastly glad he had done so. Ballin had been persuasive, even guaranteeing that the materials would be kept in separate rooms. Fox had thus been able to identify that he had mislabeled three of his older rolls, and had been able to correct the mistakes easily here instead of having it produce chaos or worse back in Philadelphia in his absence. On another roll, he had forgotten to annotate the fourth and fifth shots, and so the rest had out of sequence labels; that, too, he had corrected simply, now. Still another roll had nearly half the shots were blurred beyond salvage, probably due to water or something on the lens. Fortunately, those had been portraiture shots of specific individuals and groups named in his notes, so he had hopes of getting retakes when there was good light.
Omigod, he thought looking at the wall-mounted chronometer, that was only a few hours away and he had a huge day ahead. He stared down at his hands, trembling from the last many hours' exertions. He would need his wits about him, and any exposures taken by hands like this would come out blurry garbage. He needed some sleep and he needed it now. There wouldn't be good light anyway until at least a couple hours after dawn and Ballin had told him they wouldn't port until noon and probably later. He considered the padded bench seats - he had slept in far less hospitable spots! - but he rubbed his stubbled chin and elected to head for his stateroom where his razor and fresh clothes waited, as well as his bunk. He locked the door as he exited, and nodded politely to the sentries provided by Ballin. They nodded back.
---- Kolberg and Augsburg, course 150, speed 10 knots
Kaptains Dahm and Speck were also turning in, but they would get less sleep than Fox, only a couple of hours. Unlike Fox, the instructions they had left specified getting them back up in time to be on their respective bridges at first light. Both the light cruiser COs would have turned in sooner, but they had felt compelled to supervise the implementation of the strange late-afternoon orders from the Baron himself to conduct certain topside work before dawn.
Why Vice-Admiral Letters would issue them flag signals dictating the repainting of certain superstructure items and altering other bits here and there in their topsides was a mystery. It was certainly not what they had expected to be doing during their last night at sea, let alone the one before returning from a trans-Atlantic, blockade-busting Odyssey of a cruise featuring multiple naval battles and an invasion. However, Letters WAS the Commander - High Seas Fleet, and so paint they had.
---- Imperator, course 150, speed 10 knots
"He wants to see ME?!" Fox blinked, pancake-laden fork frozen inches from his mouth. "Now?!" He had managed four hours sleep, but felt only marginally awake.
Ballin nodded, watching imperturbably as maple syrup dripped onto one of his snowy-white linen tablecloths.
"I am to accompany," the HAPAG owner added, once the reporter had digested the news, if not the food, one piece of which, meanwhile, had begun to slide distractingly down the tines.
"My photographs?"
"We'll take one set," Ballin replied, noting the ownership identifier. He suppressed a sigh. The photographs had all been taken with Imperator cameras on Imperator film, developed in one of the liner's darkrooms, and printed on its paper.
"Is that why you had multiple copies made?"
"Partly," Ballin agreed. "I want them available for others, but kept safe for you. Consider the set we take along to be a ... ah," he paused, concentration broken by the fall of the pancake piece, " ... working copies." Where had it gone? "The other two will remain here aboard Imperator, ah, in the vault."
Fox blinked again. "That's excellent! Thank you, so much! Do I have enough time to finish this," Fox gestured incongruously with his empty fork, "and wash up?"
"But of course, I must give the captain his instructions. Shall we say, port side boat station, in 30 minutes?"
Fox agreed and Ballin left the reporter with the empty fork in his mouth and a most puzzled expression on his face.
---- Moltke, course 150, speed 10 knots
After a brief knock, the hatch swung open.
"Admiral," it was Hanzik's aide again, having ducked in previously to report rendezvous first with Admiral Schmidt's Fourth Battle Squadron and then with Admiral Necki's mixed force. "We're about to stop to bring Kaptain Conda aboard."
Letters acknowledged. Conda had hoisted his request to come aboard and report shortly after first light. The Bremen Force had disappeared amidst the rain-swept savagery last night and not answered the wireless. Bremen was reportedly extensive damaged, as were her consorts. Another mystery. Battles littered them like puppies.
He closed his eyes for a moment to put it aside. "Concentrate on the moment, the thing at hand, the man before you", he heard his pater say once again, the Old Baron, pepper-shot gray beard and all. "Master this if you would master anything in this world."
He exhaled, opened his eyes again, and leaned back, regarding again this moment's man - Kommodore von Hoban - and feeling the crushing concern return. The Kommodore had come aboard not long after dawn and had been debriefing with him for over an hour. The Baron had anticipated the Americans to chafe a bit but - grudgingly or not - to promptly and scrupulously meet their obligations under The Hague. Minor delays were one thing, but he had never expected them to flout the treaty time limits at what must have been Great Britain's bidding, and seemingly almost renounce the treaty entirely after so many years of pretense at playing the Great Power Neutral. Von Hoban had been forced to extemporize. (NOTE 2)
It had been a very near thing over there, just as it had been in the North Sea so many times this year. He had an image of everything balancing on his saber's edge, his wrist weakening with every lost ship, every lost day. He reached for his tea. It had grown cold. Again.
He sipped it anyway.
"The papers, they suggest to me that attitudes might have changed. Is that correct?"
"Among the people, yes, sir." Hanzik had already spoken at length on the harsh bluntness of their naval admirals. They might gain their respect, but Germany's Kaiserliche Marine could never hope for more than that. Any illusions the Baron might have harbored for achieving more had been exposed as just that: illusions. "The newspapers are apparently very powerful that way, but the reporters told me that the proof that the British patrolled off their coast had angered their public far more than the papers had ever expected."
Those damn reporters again.
"Salamis also had a great effect."
"The Greeks?" How many Greeks could there be in the United States? Or, even of Greek heritage? There must be one hundred million Americans, after all. (NOTE 3)
"Yes, sir. But more than that. The papers showed the Greeks celebrating Salamis - they were almost delirious with joy and pride. Wine flowed in rivers and they draped me with garlands and even gave a parade. The Americans seem to take pride in things like that even when it involves just some of them, even a small group of them."
Letters nodded, wondering where von Hoban was going with this.
"Then, when it turned out that the British had stolen Salamis' guns, bought them out from under the Greeks and snuck them across the border to Canada, they became furious. They were angry with the gun company, their government for letting it happen, and especially with the British. When it turned out that replacement guns might take a year or more to make, their anger multiplied. At the British."
The papers covered it because it sold and, if they didn't, their rivals would. Letters had seen this effect, even anticipated it, but not for this.
"That explains anger with the British. It should not last. With what they buy and sell to each other, they can never sustain such emotion. Too many American dollars and British pounds and the jobs they represent. What of their views of Germany?"
"They were hostile in New York; we were threatened by a ten thousand man riot shortly after arrival and watched by guards with bayonets." Letters winced. "Things were much better in Philadelphia. In Boston, Herr Ballin told the reporters he was giving a concert on the pier and the people filled the entire harbor to hear it."
The damn reporters again!
He looked at the chronometer. He had agreed to meet with the American in one hour.
---- Imperator, slowing
There were more ships! More warships! Many more. Fox cursed the fact that he did not have his camera ready. It was being loaded aboard the launch that would take Ballin and himself over to the Moltke.
Those over there - he was pretty sure they were the ones he'd seen take off after the British yesterday. But there'd been five; now he counted just three. Omigod! Lost in another battle?! His pulse sprinted. No camera!
"Herr Fox?"
Ah, were those the other two? "Coming." Yes, not sunk, then. Whoa! Visible damage - there HAD been another battle!
And who were THOSE ships? Five-six ...
"Herr Fox?"
---- Moltke, course 150, speed 10 knots
"Sir?" It was the bridge messenger. Perhaps Hanzik's aide had been dispatched elsewhere. "Admiral Hanzik sends his compliments, and that the ship will stopping shortly to bring aboard a boat from Imperator. Herr Ballin and the American reporter are aboard."
"Very well."
Letters turned back to "the man before him", this time Kaptain Nugal Conda. Actually, Korvettenkapitän Conda, probably soon to be Fregattenkapitän, based on the account he'd just given the Commander - High Seas Fleet. The man had written it up, but Letters left the dry pages for later. He knew now what Conda believed had happened and the paper could tell him no more than that. What he wanted now was to get a better sense of the man's confidence, and the "why" of it.
"Sunk, you said. But you did not see it yourself?"
"No, sir. I had been struck down by then." Indeed, he favored his right arm and bandages covered the right side and back of his neck, with others lurking under his uniform on his upper torso. He had reported seeing several shell hits, but both he and the Admiral had discounted completely any effects from those on dreadnoughts. Their true value lay in their confirmation that his gunners had found targets, demonstrating that his torpedomen could have, as well.
"The accounts matched, though, sir, even if not in all details." Conda had taken the time to interview many of the surviving lookouts, gunners, torpedomen, and bridge officers. "The hits were real, most of them, even if the claimants were thrice their number."
"So, 'multiple' on one, one maybe two on another, and possibles on two or three more?" (NOTE 4)
"Yes, sir."
That was a lot of hits for four ships, but the aspect had been favorable and the range just hundreds of yards.
"And the 'multiple' one was seen to sink?"
"Not sink, sir. Not exactly. Two lookouts on my trail boat saw her go over onto her side."
"List or roll over?" One was potentially recoverable, like Helgoland; the other was not, like Posen.
"Both said she'd gone all the way over, sir. I questioned them on it specifically and they both stood firm."
The Baron rubbed at his jaw, wanting to believe it. HMS Indomitable had listed rapidly after multiple waterline hits at Dogger Bank. The older British dreadnoughts might well share her vulnerability in this respect, and three or four - or even just two - torpedo hits would certainly pose a greater threat than what had put down the RN battlecruiser. (NOTE 5) And it offered a most attractive answer to one mystery.
"They may have the right of it," Letters admitted. Conda deserved to hear this, as did his men. "We counted nine during the night and we destroyed one by gunfire - confirmed. When Admiral Necki found them again yesterday afternoon, they numbered seven, and he swept wide all the way there and back."
Conda's nostrils flared at that. Confirmation!
This put the battle in a far better light. The Baron's hand went to the back of his neck, massaging at the tightness there, though Conda's news was the better treatment. Yes, indeed.
"Well done, Korvettenkapitän. Well done, indeed. I will keep this, but it is incomplete. Give me a list of recommendations - note that it was at my request - and I shall append it to the report."
---- Wilhelmshaven
The mine sweeper groups had cast off and were making their way down the channel, but that was far from the only sign of life. The hum of city had begun to grow an hour ago as the word had spread.
The fleet was returning from another victorious battle and was only a couple hours away, and they had broken the blockade, bringing home a veritable fleet of great liners, filled with countrymen formerly stranded by war on the wrong side of the ocean, foreign passengers coming to visit, and imported goods and treasure. Trains had already begun to arrive and disgorge friends and relatives and folk who simply wanted to be there for the spectacle. Far more trains were en route from as far away as Berlin. Even the Kaiser was expected!
More quietly, hospitals had begun to call in extra staff.
---- Moltke, course 150, speed 6 knots (increasing)
Fox had spent a few hours aboard Moltke during the Miquelon adventure, so he was not as intimidated as he might have been otherwise. The presence of Ballin at his side also helped steady him as they passed through hatchways and down corridors - passageways! - towards whatever their destination was. Everything seemed oddly tight and cramped, before the reporter realized that he had become used to the spacious 50,000 ton Imperator.
"Herr Admiral," began the officer leading them, speaking past a door he had knocked upon, paused, and then opened. "Herr Ballin und Herr Fox."
"Albert," began the naval officer, rising from a chair at a small table, the compartment not half the sitting room of Ballin's Owner's Suite. From the stories he had been told, Fox had half-expected Thor himself, hammer at the ready. What he saw was a man of middle age and of no more than average height, stocky but still fit. The most unusual thing about him that Fox noticed was that he sported neither beard nor mustache ... until the German admiral's eyes nailed him to the deck.
"Admiral, this is Herr Benjamin Fox, a highly respected reporter with the Philadelphia Inquirer. Herr Fox, I have the honor to introduce you to Vice-Admiral Baron Letters, Commander - High Seas Fleet." The introductions were in German, and so would the rest be. Ballin had informed Fox that the Admiral could read English adequately, but spoke it poorly.
"You are a long way from home, Herr Fox," Letters offered, in a casual tone belied by those wolf eyes, Fox thought. "Especially going to a war while your own country remains at peace."
"A long way, indeed, Herr Admiral," Fox agreed, trying not to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. Or should he have called him "Baron"? Titles made things awkward. Thank God they didn't have them in the US. "And I must confess that I am very eager to get back." With all my stuff, he managed not to add.
"I am not surprised; I miss my own home greatly, and I have been gone from it for just a couple days. As you have learned, however, it can be a perilous passage, with one's person and goods constantly at risk."
Fox kept his eyes level. This was no man to brace, especially not here, not now. Not even if only a tenth of the stories were true! But what choice did he have? He clenched his fists out of sight under the table as adrenaline flushed through him, making his hands shake. At least, he hoped it was adrenaline.
"Herr Baron Admiral, if I frightened easily, I wouldn't be here." Wolves chase what flees.
Ballin was relieved at the knock on the hatch, followed by a steward bearing a tea service. About three minutes passed as the tea was poured and served. He asked for more honey to stretch the pause.
"Perhaps you mistake me, Herr Fox. I want you to return safe, with your goods. I just do not want my country's enemies to get some of them. At least, not prematurely."
Fox nodded - he hope encouragingly - as he sipped too hot tea into his desert of a mouth. He felt utterly spent and could not have uttered another word at that moment if his life had depended upon it. He could only hope it did not.
"However, I have limits. I command the High Seas Fleet, not the Nation, not even the Ministry. What you have seen since yesterday - and photographed - include State secrets. I ask that you accept this in concept so that we can work together on this."
"I", Fox stopped and took a deep breath, "accept ... that Germany might not want Great Britain - or maybe anyone - to see some of my photographs, or for me to give some details of what I have seen, though I don't know which details they would be. Work together?"
"Good. First, you have my promise that I will preserve a copy of your full set of photographs. They are yours and will remain so - on my honor! I cannot say when they will be returned to you, but they shall be.
"Second, I will fight for all your photographs to travel to your country. My superiors will not trust those of your embassy to get any package containing them to your newspaper unopened, no matter what assurances your countrymen might offer to the contrary. I ask that you accept that, as well. We will have to find another method, one my country WILL trust. Maybe we can enlist the good offices of a Neutral - Greece, perhaps. Oh, there may be exceptions, but they should be few. Gross images of German gore, for example. Would you want American daughters and sisters to see their brothers, sons, or fathers so?"
"There are none like that," Fox protested quietly, but his voice still shook. He was no ghoul! "The dead are in some - you fought a battle! - but they are under sheets or at a distance."
"That should be no problem, then. Your photographs will have to be examined, of course, but I will not allow them to be tampered with. Either my men will perform the examination or I will ensure that my officers are there should others do it. Any that are not released will have to remain in the set that I shall retain for you."
"That sounds fair," Fox said. "What of the photographs showing damage to your ships? I thought those would be the problem." Why in the hell did I ask that?
"Not as long as they are not seen before they reach your paper. That should take several weeks, no matter how hard we try otherwise. I am confident that British spies will have sent the information back to their masters before then."
"Oh!"
"Let us discuss next the text of your stories, and how they will reach your paper."
"Yes, Herr Admiral." Fox did not like the sound of that, but kept his tone warmly polite. The photographs part had gone better than he had expected, and so might this.
"This was a German victory, so my country has no wish to obstruct you. We do not fear the truth and would proudly let all the world learn of it."
"A German victory?" So many shattered German ships. So many dead. This was victory?
"Precisely. The British sortied their entire fleet in their desperation to prevent Herr Ballin's liners from returning to Germany and failed. In last night's battle, they lost many more ships than we did and fled. Do you doubt your eyes? You arrived just after the battle ended. Our fleet was there. Where were the British? Admiral Necki - he commanded the ships that met you to strengthen your escort - chased them all the way back to Britain, picking off stragglers as he went."
"Just how many ships were lost?"
"Yes, that gets to the heart of it," the German admiral nodded approvingly.
What in the hell? Fox had not expected THAT reaction.
"The battle was fought at night and mostly in the middle of a rainstorm. I know now precisely which German ships were lost, but the British do not. The British do not know which ships they lost, but they will within the day. I will not know it, however. Not exactly. What I do know is that the British losses that I have been able to confirm are already greater than mine.
"What I do not want the British to know quite yet are my actual losses and what I know of their losses."
Fox nodded. It made a strange sort of sense.
"So, as long as what you report as facts only those things that you confirm to be facts, and report all else as opinions or guesses, then I think you can write what you will. I will simply not provide you facts that I do not wish you to write, and I will attempt to make sure none of my men do so either. I may be forced by my superiors to review your work, but I will make no objections, as long as you follow that rule."
"I don't think I understand."
"Let me give you an example. Suppose you decide to interview Admiral Napier, of the British Royal Navy ...."
"A British admiral?!"
"Yes, he is aboard." Letters hid a smile. Tough as this American was proving to be, he remained predictable in key ways. "He is among our prisoners. We have over 600. As long as you report anything that Admiral Napier says as being his personal opinion or his claims, then there will be no objection from me. For all I care, you can print a claim by him to having sunk a dozen German dreadnoughts, just so long as you don't represent it as fact."
"I can accept that. You'll let me interview him?"
"I can provide you the opportunity but, of course, I cannot force him to talk to you. Be aware though that, once we dock in a couple hours, he will pass from my hands, and you will probably want to be back aboard Imperator with your camera before we enter harbor."
"Yes, thank you."
"Now, one more thing."
"Yes?"
This time, Letters did not bother to hide his smile.
---- Philadelphia Inquirer
"Chief! Call on Line 1."
"Who is it?" The heavy-set editor got the words out without even shifting his stogie.
"Dunno, sounded foreign."
"Get rid of him." It was almost noon, and his stomach knew it.
"Chief, he says he just wants to read you 20 words."
"So let'm read them to you. I don't have time for this."
"He says only you and he sounds pretty excited, boss."
"Okay, okay." He picked up the phone and identified himself. "So, let's hear those 20 words."
"Arrived safe Germany," began the man in Sayville, New York. "Two hour transmission starting five - battle accounts - British admiral N-a-p-i-e-r prisoner - tell Browning - how run E-d-s-n-a-g-s? Blue" (NOTE 6)
Author's NOTEs:
1) The first Pulitzer Prizes would not be awarded until 1917 and would include, ironically, one for a story on the "German Empire". The first Pulitzer for photography would not be awarded until 1942. See:
http://www.pulitzer.org/history.html
2) Colonel Anton had suggested and Vice-Admiral Stennis had feared as much. See:
http://www.thequickbluefox.com/EinG-jun18-decisions-8.html
3) Historically correct. See:
http://www.npg.org/facts/us_historical_pops.htm
4) Historians now agree that three torpedoes struck St. Vincent (confirmed by divers post-war), while Warspite and Neptune were struck by one each.
.
5) See 12:06 entry, here:
http://www.thequickbluefox.com/DB_Story_Page.html
6) See NOTE 5, here:
)
